


to whom the sun rises

by quixidiotic



Category: Original Work, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: F/F, Jack Daniels, M/M, Star Wars AU, clara avery, colton santiago, everett delacroix, i can add more of these later right i think ill do that, i know theres like no point in tagging em but idk what else to do, okay, shutting up now, the original quartet, uh, we should really have a name for em that would be pretty cool
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:55:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27927859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quixidiotic/pseuds/quixidiotic
Summary: four key players, set adrift through the galaxy.(it would be pretty wild if they all found each other through a series of mishaps and ended up ganging together and forming a sketchy and inexperienced alliance to take on a dangerous warlord haha that would be pretty crazy wouldn't it haha good thing that'll never happen am i right aha.,,......,.,.,.,.,.,,,.,.,.......,.,.,.,.,.,,.,,,,,,.,.,.,.................. unless???)
Kudos: 5





	1. episode iv: a gathering of pawns

**Author's Note:**

> yes i know its cheesy shh the whole thing isnt going to be like this i promise

#  Episode IV 

#  A GATHERING OF PAWNS 

The galaxy is in the worst turmoil it has seen for many years. Those who were raised under shining skies now have their views obscured by imperial banners and the hulls of dreaded warships. Despite the best efforts of the rebellion, the people's hope is waning.

But not everyone is a soldier. Some have never left their parsec, and take on the world with nothing to their name. Some are only trying to get by, no matter which side they find themselves on. Some live in blissful denial, completely unawares of the war torn life which rages on without them. Some, without quite meaning to, have found themselves to be the very opposite of a hero.

Yet maybe, just maybe, they will make all the difference.


	2. colton

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shut up yes colton does get to start off this au no im not playing favourites just. let him have this shhh it only seemed right

Coruscant is never quiet. It’s a planet built on cities which never sleep, run by restless people. You’re more likely to see a dozen airspeeders flying overheard before you glimpse the sun. Tall and intimidating silver towers don’t scrape the sky but pierce it, as unsatisfied with limits as it’s residents are. 

The city has never seen a moment of complete silence, never stills for a second. And yet there are times when it comes close. In the ripe early morning, when the sun is just starting to break through the clouds and painting the metallic skyline a warm bronze. When it’s just light enough to see without the assistance of the skylamps but early enough that they haven’t been turned off yet. When the drone of crafts overhead is a steady and grounding hum rather than a roar. 

Day belongs to the workers, night belongs to the criminals, but what lies between belongs to no one but the city itself. Most citizens are still fast asleep, some are just collapsing in bed. And one has been up for hours. 

On a golden and gleaming rooftop, a lightsaber ignites for the first time. 

The blade’s chilling blue light sticks out amidst the horizon of oranges and whites, lighting up the rooftop like a beacon. There isn’t much for it to reveal, save some scattered tools, a crude holo-transceiver, and a boy. 

Colton couldn’t tell you how long he’s waited for this. For everything to come together. It still doesn’t feel quite real, and yet, it must be. He could never dream up the soreness in his hands from tinkering through the night, the bruise on his shoulder from his reckless quest for parts, the faint humming the lightsaber is making in his hand.  
An early morning breeze catches his unruly hair and the stubby braid which trails from it. The wind in his face must be bothering him, but he hardly seems to register it. All the attention he has is completely enthralled with the saber, his creation. 

And for a moment, the city belongs to a boy on the roof with his world in his hands. 

The sight is impressive for all of three seconds before he gives into a giddy cheer. An attempt to muffle his own loss of face is fruitless, excited and breathless giggles spilling over the hand he’s hastily clamped over his mouth. His revelry is only cut short by the saber slipping from his grip. It makes a horrible grating crash against the metal roof, leaving a bold and angry streak of soot in the shining surface. Effectively distracted, he lunges for the hilt before it can roll any further. Saber back in his hand and safely closed, Colton grants himself one last look at the new sun before getting to work. 

He picks up the holo-transceiver, rapping it a couple times against the side of his hand before it sparks to life. Laying the display on the wall which shields him from the abyss of the streets below, he brings up the last projection he had been using to train. It’s one of the less polished recordings, just a shaky shot of a class of padawans running through drills. Not particularly valuable, but not easy to find either. 

Colton has been collecting these recordings longer than he’s been crafting his saber, which is saying something. By the time he landed on Coruscant, every trace of the jedi council’s former rule had been completely stripped from the landscape. But try as the Empire might, there was one element of the city which refused to be stamped out: it’s underworld. 

Each trip to the alleys and back corners of the city sent him farther and farther past where he’d sworn to Abuela he’d never venture. But when each trip sent him back with a new disk, or recording, or text, he couldn’t resist diving back in for another look. 

And the fruits of his labours were finally paying off. He was no longer following along the masters with his staff, but with a lightsaber of his very own. Despite his familiarity with the drills, having studied them ruthlessly, he found himself faltering to replicate the moves with his new weapon. His studies didn’t prepare him very well for reality. The saber was lighter than he anticipated, a strange sense of balance and dizziness all at once. It’s an incredibly sensitive weapon, responding to his every touch. He’s got a lot more training ahead of him. Fortunately, by the looks of it, he’ll get an early start. Despite how long he’s stayed up, the thrill of being able to finally see things fall into place is more effective at keeping him energised than a death stick straight to the bloodstream. 

He waves his hand over the transceiver’s display, starting the projection over once more. Feet planted, deep breath in, blade extended, he flicks the switch. 

It’s rough at first, make no mistake. His swings are too strong, knocking him off balance. His blocks are weak, the blade slipping dangerously close to his face with each poor save. But he keeps raising the weapon again, and restarting the projection. 

Each swing begins to blend together, no longer a series of drills but a fluid sequence, a performance. The sun is hiking higher and higher into the sky, setting the roof on fire with bright flashes of orange, but Colton doesn’t notice. There’s sweat in his eyes and an ache in his arms but he’s found his rhythm now, and nothing will break him out of it. 

Swing, lunge, block. The drone of the projection has faded from his hearing, lost in his own world, acting on instincts instead of lessons. Step, appel, parry. The normal roar of the city is crashing around him at full force, but he doesn’t miss a beat. Attack, coulé... The usual din of the airspeeders is awfully loud, isn’t it? Feint, block… The wind has really picked up, tools skidding on the metal. The roar of the city has taken on a distinct new sound, much like someone yelling at the top of their lungs. Colton snaps out of his trance. 

He’s met with the striking sight of a speeder headed straight for him. He has just enough time to close the saber and make for a sidestep, the craft clipping him on the back all the same and sending him crashing into the roof’s barriers. He groans, the walls rough against his back. 

“Don’t be dead,” a voice calls from the speeder as it’s driver hastily embarks. “I can’t have killed you. If you are dead, just stop that now.” A pair of piercing yellow eyes come into Colton’s vision, framed by a figure which glows red in the sunlight. Black crooked designs curl around his skull and jaw. 

“You didn’t kill me.” Colton says, getting to his feet with a shaky hand on the wall behind him. “Came pretty close though. Seriously Jack, could you have gone any faster?”

“I’m sorry,” Jack says, a broad frown twisting the designs around his chin. “I’ll do my very best to not run you over again in the future.”

“Couldn’t you at least say you won’t run me over, full stop?”

“Don’t force me to make promises we both know I can’t keep.” 

“Why are you here so early?” Colton asks, slipping the saber into the tool belt around his waist.

“The day’s half gone, gungan-for-brains,” Jack teases, before suddenly getting distracted. “I’ve got news.”

“Good news?”

“The best,” Jack assures him, before leaning against the idling speeder. “You know Linea, that bartender downtown?”

“Uh huh,” Colton hums. He’s aware of her, for sure. Though he can’t say he’s on as good terms with her as Jack is, a frequent customer. 

“Right, so, to keep things simple…” Colton starts to pack away his tools, realising he should be settling in for a long tirade. “She’s got a brother, and her brother has got some friends, and you know what I always say. Any friend of my bartender’s brother is a friend of mine.”

“I’ve never heard you say that.”

“I say it all the time,” Jack insists, flapping a dismissive hand in Colton’s general vicinity. “But this friend works in another bar, right? The one over by the east-side.” 

“I don’t know why you’re expecting me to know where these bars are.”

“Yeah yeah, get off your high horse, you’ve been down Koro’s alley far more times than I ever have.” 

Colton frowns at that, but can’t come up with a retort. 

“Now let me finish. This other other bartender has got a cousin-”

“Jack-” Colton begs, and he relents. 

“There’s a rebellion general passing through,” he finally lets out. Colton stills, suddenly giving Jack his full attention. “She’ll be scoping out the east side bar, some kind of official business.”

“And she’ll be here-”

“Tonight! She could already be touching down!” Jack crones, always a storyteller. 

“Well. Stars,” Colton exclaims under his breath, looking a little overwhelmed. “Do you think we can find her?”

“Already miles ahead of you, kid.” Offering a smirk, Jack gestures invitingly to the speeder which still floats suspended behind them. 

“This could be it,” Colton says. He sounds almost lightheaded. 

“So we’re doing this, then?”

“We have to try, don’t we?”

“Yeah, I suppose you do, you terrible dreamer.” Jack gives him a tired but familiar smile. He’s about to turn back to the speeder when his eyes suddenly widen. “Holy shavit, is that-”

“Mhm,” Colton hums, trying and failing to hold back a proud smile as he draws the saber hilt. 

“You got it to-” Jack is cut off as the blue blade springs to light in front of him. He lets out a booming cheer. “Way to go! I knew you’d figure it out.” 

“You want to…” Colton holds the hilt out to Jack.

“Don’t waste my time with stupid questions,” he replies before taking the hilt. Or at least, attempting to. Colton shrieks in panic as the saber falls yet again, though this time Jack nabs it before it does any more damage to the roof. 

“I kid! I kid!” Jack says quickly, though his panicked demeanour suggests otherwise. “C’mon, at least pretend to have a little faith in me.” 

Jack gets a secure grip on the hilt, holding it away from him like it’ll shock him if he gets too close. He takes a deep breath, then thumbs the switch. Despite all of the technological advancements he’s seen and created with his own hands, the antique wonder he currently welds brings a new light behind his eyes, one which had been dimmed for too long. 

“Y’know,” he says after a beat, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “This is kinda cool.”

“Yeah,” Colton says, another inescapable smile tugging at his lips. “I guess it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i highly recommend googling coruscant it's my fav planet/setting in the whole sw universe its gorgeous and some of the best scenes go down there 
> 
> the reason jack is The Way He Is is because he's an alder-espirion!! so he's got this funky elf/darth maul esque look going on and i for one think that is Very Cool of him. apart from the new look he also has a lifespan of about 400 years ! wild ! 
> 
> last note but i know you're supposed to say open a lightsaber not ignite but i. hate that so we're not doing that at least not in this chapter maybe ill get used to it later on


	3. clara

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw: alcohol use, drug use

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eyyy its ya gal i tried my best to make her Oh So Much Cooler than i could ever be i hope i succeeded

Clara is no stranger to a tough crowd. She’s had her fair share of lacklustre pre-battle speeches, strategy proposals which fall flat, or even just a poor reception to her best attempt at small talk. 

But she wasn’t quite prepared for Moshi Bar. Which can’t entirely be her fault. No one is going to roll up to a place which sounds like a pet name with high expectations. And they certainly wouldn’t be anticipating the need to go in blaster cocked and finger resting on the trigger. 

“Password?” a reedy voice asks. 

Despite the unnerving figure currently blocking her way in, she can still catch a glimpse of the bar’s interior. Smoke floods the entire room, obscuring its patrons in a haze. The dance floor is simply a kaleidoscope of warped and twisting blurs of colour. The whole establishment gives the feel of walking through a curtain of iridescent magma. 

The bouncer in front of her clears their throat, a shrewd and screeching sound which makes Clara flinch. If she has to hear this quarren of an employee speak for a second longer she just might have to call off the mission entirely. _‘Sorry sir, I understand this was a big deal, but, you see… They were annoying.’_

“Leo-lethal” She says quickly, before they -god forbid- open their mouth again. The bouncer’s face twists into a scowl before they step aside, granting her access. 

Her first step in is smooth enough. Second, not so much. The ditzy looking woman she’s attempting to sidestep flashes Clara a dopey grin before the patron’s eyes roll back and she starts to sway. Instinct alone grants Clara the power to catch the woman in her arms before she hits the floor. Unfortunately, instinct also tells her to pull back the second she comes in contact with the woman’s skin, slick and sweat soaked. 

She’s only three minutes into her newest deployment and she’s already managed to drop someone. Great start. 

After ensuring the woman isn’t injured (really, she looks perfectly content on the floor), Clara ventures deeper through the smoke. Buzzed partygoers flank her left and right. As she moves closer to the back room which has to be here somewhere, the crowd around her shifts. Spacey giggles start to sound like husky growls. The smoke is thinner here, but Clara would’ve preferred the filter. The sight that is being revealed to her more and more with each draft she bats out of the way is far from a pretty one. 

Now, more than any other, is the time for averted eyes. Patrons lay cast about the room like corpses, all but dead to the world. The bar had left out mats and headrests for their guests who were looking for a more severe episode, a complete and utter escape. Even so, bodies lay mere feet away from the support, crumpled and weak, their eyes are blank and motionless. Clara’s fairly sure a couple of them aren’t breathing. With a shaky breath of her own, she starts to scan the room. 

Clara would be the first to admit that she’s got her work cut out for her on this one. Well. The first to admit to _herself_. Anyone else? No, no, she’s the perfect picture of a general who has everything under control. And most certainly is not currently looking for a target who, when it comes down to it, could be any of the figures surrounding her. 

A glance at the display on her wrist tells her that time is running thin. If she doesn’t find the target soon, the whole deal will be over and done with before she can learn a thing. And it’s vital she gets something out of this entire nightmare of a mission. 

Start somewhere. She glances at the body currently breathing down her neck. A hulking figure, flushed and swaying. The alcohol is so thick on their breath, she almost fears she’ll become intoxicated with the smell itself. The target is here on important business, whether it be from the empire or the most dangerous warlord in the galaxy. They wouldn’t be drinking on the job. She moves on. 

Weaving through the crowd, Clara continues her search. Nothing about her surroundings is constant. Not the people, not the smells, the temperature, the lighting… And certainly not the crowd. The press of bodies around her is insufferable, ebbing and flowing and leaving her feel like a castaway lost at sea. Her gaze snags on as many faces as she can make out. 

The woman in the corner, hunched over like a crone. That’s fairly suspicious- False alarm. Just another deal. The twi’lek by the stool, then. She’s rather dressed up for a bar, perhaps on official business- Or on a date, apparently. Definitely a creative choice of location. There’s a man against the back wall with sideburns. Bushy ones too. Truly, only an entity of pure evil could ever bear to sport such a horrendous style, and with such confidence too. Right? Right?! 

Evidently, the crowd is getting to her. She ducks between too uncomfortably sweaty bodies to grab for a door knob, ignoring the ‘employees only’ message which graces the display. Once she’s safe in the side passage, definitively crowd free, she can breathe. 

As much as she’d like to flex her so-called detective skills, she has to face reality. She can make as many assumptions about this faceless target as she wants, but at the end of the day, she still has no idea what they look like, and even less clue as to where they could be. Her head knocks against the door behind her, a dull thud echoing around her as she sighs. 

She wasn’t exaggerating when she said this mission was vital. Tonight was host to perhaps the most severe deal to have ever been made. The empire has firmly established itself as the greatest threat to the galaxy. The danger of a union between their forces and any others was unfathomable. 

Her jacket has been resting on her shoulder, arms free of the sleeves, but she takes it off in favour of tying it around her waist. It’s a rather nice jacket, and has seen her through years of deployments far and wide. She’d rather not be forced to leave it behind should a need for a quick getaway arise. Knot secured, she looks up to discover she is no longer alone in the service corridor. 

Another twi'lek stands in front of her, a tray of glasses resting against her hip. Her eyes, a pale grey, blink curiously at her, standing out like ice against her lavender skin. 

“I don’t think you’re supposed to be here.” The twi’lek has a high and airy voice, pitching upwards despite the lack of question. 

“No,” Clara says quickly, stepping away from the door. “I mean. Yes. Actually, I’m” she flounders. “I’m here on official business.” 

“What business?” The waitress asks, head cocking to the side. Her tentacles slip off her shoulders and hover dangerously close to the drinks at her side. 

“None of yours,” Clara responds quickly, pulling on all her experience in putting rowdy officers in line. Straight back, hard gaze, words crisp and dismissive. Unfortunately, the waitress doesn’t look impressed. 

“Look, I’m sorry, but I’m really not supposed to let anyone back here.” She continues, not batting an eye. In fact, it’s been a while since she’s blinked. It’s more than a little unsettling. 

“Could you make an exception? For me?” Clara tries once more. It’s been a while since she’s fallen back on fliration for a mission. Rather, a while since she’s used fliration and it _worked_. The waitress just stares at her, gaze as chilling and unwavering as ever. Clara sighs. Evidently, her streak of poor luck is yet to be broken. “I’m on my way out.” 

The waitress gives her a tight smile before pushing past her and disappearing into the din of the crowd. Clara lurks in the passage, alone again. There’s no hope in finding the target before the deal, she’s figured out that much. But maybe that shouldn’t be her focus. 

A crowded bar is no place for a deal of this importance to go down. If anything, she’s probably closer now to the target than she has been this entire night. Out of sight, out of earshot, in a restricted area… Curious, Clara starts stalking down the passage. It’s relatively unassuming, bare save for dust and crates. Two doorways interrupt the plain walls, one flanking each side. 

She opens the first door. The room before her is some kind of free-for-all storage room, with crates of junk reaching to the ceiling. She tries the other. A classy lounge is displayed to her, a long meeting table acting as a statement piece. She closes the door, and another opens behind her. 

Clara turns to see a third door, marking the end of the hallway. A back door, of course. What did she expect, an officer in full empire garb to simply march through the front door? Or even less likely, an empire official out of uniform, mingling among the people? A glance at the arm which holds the door open is enough to confirm her suspicions. Olive green, definitely an empire uniform. 

She has seconds, maybe not even that, to choose a room. Taking a deep breath and praying to all the deities in the universe (none of which she endorses, but she could use all the help she can get), she plunges into the second room.

The lounge is even more excessive up close. Gilded seats, a cushy carpet, enough lanterns to fill a docking bay. The sharp sound of footsteps behind her prompts her to dive under the table, tucking herself completely into the cramped space just before the door swings open a second time.

Polished boots enter the room, their occupants letting out a lavish sigh of discontent. Clara holds her breath. Soon after, the boots are joined by another pair, these heeled and strappy. The door shuts behind the new guest, and Clara flinches at the sound of the lock activating. 

“You’re who I’m supposed to meet,” the officer says. 

“Who else would I be?” The second voice makes Clara still. High, breathy, and unmistakable the waitress’. That's… Not quite _surprising_ , she wouldn’t go that far. Disappointing, for sure. Farrik, she really needs to work on her sleuthing. 

“Attitude won’t be necessary. We both know why we’re here.”

“Mhm. Do you have the stuff?” The waitress asks, sounding distracted. 

“Yes, I brought the.” The officer sounds physically pained as he chokes out “stuff.” 

Their conversing is traded in for faint rustling as both the guests retrieve their tablets from their pockets. Clara tenses. Underground deals are never this neat and pretty, and she’s ready for a firefight, should it come to that. The rustling stills and a clear ping is heard. First from over the polished boots, then the strappy ones. 

They’re making a transaction. This is it. Holding her breath, Clara quietly begins maneuvering her wrist display, booting up the reading software. She wouldn’t be able to steal the contents of their trade outright, but if she could just get a look-

The document is just beginning to process on her display when the door crashes open for what is definitively the last time. 

All three of the room's occupants whirl to the door, which has been busted completely off of its hinges. Standing over the wreckage is a hollering alder-esperion and a boy who, frankly, looks seconds from passing out. 

Clara swears under her breath. One smooth mission, is that truly so much to ask?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> moshi bar is a real canon location and i for one think that's beautiful it is a Stellar name
> 
> au clara is based off the character mon mothma ! they're both rebellion generals from chandrila, they're both really badass, and they're both milfs okay thats all good talk

**Author's Note:**

> there's an extremely high chance that i'll abandon this after a week so im sorry in advance. uh imma try and keep lore and stuff in the notes here so like. all the weird references make some semblance of sense hopefully.


End file.
